


Tibetan Hotdogs

by bookeater_otaku, Shiroyuki9



Series: BPRD Insolite Chronicles [1]
Category: Hellboy (Comics), Hellboy - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookeater_otaku/pseuds/bookeater_otaku, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiroyuki9/pseuds/Shiroyuki9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story made after I read Odder Jobs (an Hellboy short story anthology, published by Dark Horse) and I wanted to give it a try. Basicaly Hellboy goes to Tibet in order to recover a priceless artefact, the troubles he goes through with an inhabitual monk and a Fedex bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tibetan Hotdogs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Hellboy doesn't belong to us … especially not the comic-verse. *^_^*
> 
> Rating: T because of Hellboy and his potty mouth ... crap.
> 
> This is “talking”, this is 'thinking' and this is talking in foreign language.
> 
> First published on ff.net, on Apr 25, 2011 
> 
> Have a pleasant read.

   Hellboy- Tibetan Hotdogs

 

The Himalayas. Top of the world, the summit of these mountains pierces the clouds and stop higher than any bird can flies. At this altitude, no wildlife has any hope of surviving. The pointy peak of these mountains eternally covered in snow and continuously blasted by a wind so cold that it could pierces through armor like a Doberman bite a mailman. And no matter where your eyes wander, you can only see the blue sky, rock and snow. The view is covered in an endless suit of natural pyramids cutting the line of the horizon.

 

Endlessly, but in one place.

 

One of the mountains stand out from the others. Most of the top was flatten. The submit of this big block of rock was cut off in a perfectly horizontal line making a plateau of about a thousand square meters, making it the only flat place on the mountain, who’s most surface are so steep and vertical that a mountain goat, nature specialist of cliff climbing, is seriously looking for a partner to abseil.

 

And at the center of this plate stand a majestic, enormous and ancient Buddhist Tibetan temple. Columns of dark grey stone stand by some mighty golden Buddha statues, making it an impressive display to anyone who comes to see it. Not that many people would make the hike to see it anyway. The whole thing gives the vibe of: “It’s an ancient and forgotten mysterious temple, forgotten by modern civilization and hosting forgotten secret and forgotten knowledge. The damn place was build there to be forgotten, so it would like to stay that way, so go away and forget that you saw it!”

 

That kind of temple.

 

Forgotten but not deserted. Monks still lives here.

 

Not the detective, we mean Buddhist priest.

 

And one of them is sitting at the end of the stairs that lead at the only entrance of the temple. The stairs lead to the edge of the plateau that end in an abrupt drop. If there is a message there, I just don’t know what it is.

 

The bald monk (monk shave their head so he might not be bald) is sitting in the lotus position, garbed in only his orange togs, four steps away from the void. And beside him there is a crudely made sign that as written on it in many languages : No peddlers.

 

The monk is waiting. Not for illumination but … well, that too but in this case, he is waiting for someone and that someone should be coming along soon. The monk strains his hearing waiting … Still noting, but then again, the wind do not make his task any easier. Did the climber decided went back down? Or did he meet an early demise?

 

It would not be the first time.

 

Maybe… Wait a second… Ahh… There it is, the sound of crushed snow and of small rocks pluming down hitting their much bigger sisters. Followed by the sound of someone grunting from the effort and the panting from the rarified oxygen. And in a last ditch of strain and struggle a hand appeared over the edge, clamping on any leverage it could. A strange massive hand perhaps. Made of stone like the stair, only red in color, apparently it covered the whole forearms too making it look like a tube or a big pipe, covered in inscription carved on the surface.

 

 A second hand joins the first, this one quite ordinary, and with a last jump, the climber hoist himself upon the stair.

 

 A climber with a FedEx bag.

 

The dark skinned monk took his time to study this strange visitor.

 

He is tall, at least seven feet. Quite large at the shoulders too. And in the place of his feet there is black hoof with red legs from the little you could see from under the pants (the stranger was wearing). He is also wearing a big trench coat, sturdy but a little ripped in places, probably from the climb with all the sharp rocks on the way. The coat had a logo on the sleeve. A circle and inside it, a hand holding the hilt of a sword. And to complete the ensemble, there’s a scarf around his neck and a cap on his head. And it is not a head you see everyday either.

 

His skin is completely red, like the tip of sulfur matches. His eyes are yellow like those of a tiger. He has a pinch of a unkempt black beard on his chin (the guy has been on the mountain for days now) and side burns. But the most surprising feature on this face was on his forehead, two round protuberances (red), jutting out of his skin looking like a pair of misplaced goggles.

 

The stranger was puffing and coughing out his lungs like a chain smoker that just done a triathlon … Iron man category apparently.

 

The mysterious stranger crawls the next three steps of the stair and sits right next to the monk like it was the most natural thing to do. The monk only turn his head side way, paying his attention on what the visitor would do next.

 

He fumbles with his pockets for a moment to get a cigar out. Struggling to light it, he cups his hand to block the wind. When he succeeds to light it, he took a _long_ puff of the acre smoke, savoring it, like a thirsty man with bottle of water in a desert.

 

For someone who was so bend on expulsing his own lungs a moment before, the behavior was fascinating to the monk. It was like watching a drunken man dancing on a table. You know he is going to slip and smash his face in a way painful enough for the onlooker to feel it too, but you can’t stop watching because you don’t want to miss a good show.

 

Or maybe, climbing this mountain was like sex, you cannot help but to want to grill one after it. Not that he remember it that way. When he climbed it, many years ago, the-not-yet-monk was half frozen and hurting in place he did not know he had. Maybe this one was masochist.

 

The musing of the monk were interrupted by the stranger asking him something.

 

“Mind if I sit here?” he ask like the answer was going to change the fact that he’s already taken his ease. “It was a long climb you know. Was it necessary to precise that pilgrims cannot do it with anything else than their two arms and legs, huh?”

 

“It would not be has meaningful” answer the monk in a calm voice, smiling like someone who had also been one the wrong end of this joke.

 

“Right.” Dripping with sarcasm the red skinned climber. He pause a moment. “Excuse me if I’m rude but from your accent you’re not from around here, are you?”

 

Amused by the stranger odd sense of priority, the monk answered. “You are right, I’m from Brooklyn, New-York.”

 

“That what I thought. Your skin color is not common around these parts” respond the giant, hitting obviously at the blacker than night skin of the monk.

 

“I can tell from yours too that you are not a local either.”

 

The stranger smiled at the remark from the monk. It is always surprising to find out that men that are isolated from everything have generally a good sense of humor. It’s maybe due to the fact that ‘everything’ do not hit on their nerves like everyone else.

 

The stranger, his cigar in his left hand, hold out his right stone hand to offer a handshake. “I’m Hellboy. I did not think there would be anyone here to welcome me. Or are you here to greet the tourists?”

 

The monk shook the hand of Hellboy as if it was the most natural thing to do, a gesture he did not do since he left America, he saw in these eyes the he did just past some kind of test from this demon. Peoples probably hesitate to shake this lumps of stone that, after he felt it, he knew could crush his own hand like paper. He was glad that his training as a monk allowed him to make abstraction of the superficial. But still, it was amusing to be tested like that when it is usually him who’s suppose to test people… Better get back the conversation.

 

“I am Samson. There’s no need for a last name here. And I’m hardly posted here for tourists. We don’t ‘appreciate’ tourists.” The monk says scrunching his nose. “We knew you were coming, I was sent here to greet you and see why your journey led you here.”

 

“Wow. You guys knew I was coming. Was it from a prediction or some kind of prophecy?”

 

“Hardly. We heard you swear a storm when you were climbing for a while now. The sound carry up here easily. Oh and by the way you now hold the record of this monastery for the most long winded sting of insult at a rock. And with the word rutabaga too. Congratulations.”

 

“Euh… Thanks?”

 

“And now honourable stranger, are you here on a spiritual quest? Or are you in search of answers? If you are here to pillage, rape and murder the whole place down, and the order may vary, I’m in the obligation to warn you that you will be dealt swiftly by hundreds of martial arts master with really sharps weapons and chi wizard with powerful spell. All in done in a Zen way evidently.”

 

“No, no, no!” exclaim Hellboy raising his hands to prove he was not threatening. But considering his huge size and what he have for a right hand, it is not very convincing. “I come in peace. I’m on a quest but I’m not here for answers, I came here to get something. Huh… By the way, does the last one happen often?”

 

“No, it doesn’t happen anymore. In the past, Mongol tried to raid this monastery thinking that since it’s so (secret) remote it must have secrets treasures. But the only treasure you can get here is of spiritual nature. The only thing they got, from here was a butt kicking and a test to see if Mongol could fly.”

Looking over the edge, Hellboy gulp his imagination betraying him. “And could they?” he ask wondering if a brief sojourn in this monastery gives you a crash course on levitation.  

 

“No.”

 

“Then, why ask this option if it doesn’t happen anymore?”

 

“We are an old temple, we do not like to change things to much. Beside it’s fun to see the reaction of the new guy every time.” Samson explains still smiling.

 

Hellboy wonder now, if it really was a joke. Better get on with the program then. Old hermit can have a sense of humor but it’s a twisted one.

 

The horned person in front of Samson the monk got up on his hooves and the monk felt he had to do the same in his turn, sensing this is the more official part of this odd meeting. He now saw a part that he missed when he first inspected the visitor. He seems to have a thin red tail coming out of the back of his coat that reaches to the ground. The tip of the appendage is inside some kind of a long wool hat, with many bright colors and a pompom, held in place with duck tape.

 

“So … you want to get something?”

 

“I’m here to get, wait a sec.” Hellboy now going through his pockets. After a while and getting out some diverse religious symbols, a silver coin, a knife, some bullets, a half frozen ham and cheese sandwich and oddly, a stupid looking squeaky toy he took out a crumbled sheet of paper. “I was told to read it like that: _Me, Hellboy of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, hailing from New-Jersey, ask for the urn of The Jade Buddha containing the holy jewel of Nar, Nar, N…”_

 

“NarïömyshÏmonotorä”

 

“Yeah, that’s it. Kind of a mouthful. I continue: “… _the holy jewel of Narï-thingy in the name of the sacred oath the monastery made to give it to the one who will need it proven if he is worthy of it._ ”

 

“Oh boy.” The monk was looking at Hellboy like he asked for lesson in classical ballet instead. “I never tough someone would actually ever come for that old thing. You sure dig up some old crap. And with the whole ceremony too. Everyone his taught how to do it but nobody ever take it seriously. You are sure it’s what you came here for?” Seeing Hellboy nod, the monk was even more at loss. “Man, I’m not sure if I remember what we suppose to say then. Huhhh… Ok: _Oh stranger coming from far, if you want to have the urn of The Jade Buddha containing the holy jewel of Narïömysh… Narïömys… NarïömyshÏmu… Narï-thingy_ , your right it is a mouthful, _you will need to get the water from the well and wash the most important statue of the temple. Then you will have to answer the sacred question. Only then you can have it.”_

Hellboy kept his face stern, puffing on his halfway done cigar, pondering how to answer that. The damn manuscript didn’t say anything about well water and playing the cleaning maid. Proving he was worthy… He kind of expected a courage test or having to slay some monsters. Cleaning… He hardly clean his own room. But that’s not the biggest problem he had now.

 

“Err, you see, I’m somehow stuck with a time table here. If I don’t have it by noon in four day I will kind of miss the only chance to save London and everyone in it. So is there any other way to do it faster? I need that specific urn to seal a demon who look like a reject from the cast of “Butt ugly Alien” to keep him from making London the biggest minty flavored crap hole ever conceived.”

 

“I’m sorry, there is no other way.”

 

“Crap. Ok where is that well.”

 

“You are not going to like the answer, at the bottom of mountain where you began.”

 

Hellboy inhaled a good quantity of air through his nose to not lose his calm. “Let me guess. The statue I have to wash is the big ass one up there isn’t it?”

 

“No, it’s the even bigger one inside. And then, if you still have water in your bucket after your three day climbs, you have to unfreeze it. With your breath.”

 

“And my ass his made of chickens!” Hellboy retorted getting pissed. Then he sighed, realizing that getting angry would get him no where. He suspected that this part of the test was to piss-off the challenger as much as possible. “Crap. So much for that plan. Why didn’t they plan a solution for urgent situations if they are supposed to be sages among sages?” The situation is effectively pressing. Like a kid who waited too long to go pissing, there is going to be too much pressure to control the stream. Like that, the current situation is going to leave a big mess.

 

“I’m really sorry” offered Samson. “If only you came with the intention of learning the way of the Buddha or if you had an existential question to ask, our temple would have received you with open arms.”

 

“Oh, I have a question for them alright, but I don’t think they would like to hear it.” He puffed angrily on his tobacco stick. “I don’t think I would like their answer either”.

 

Hellboy moved around a little to warm himself a little and to think of a way to get out of this mess. He turned toward the monk again and he’s still flabbergasted that this thin man did not seem to be feeling the cold at all when he is only dressed with an orange drape that are commonly used by cheap roadside hotel to cover their windows. That, and maybe, a pair of yak wool underwear. Warm in any condition but itchy as hell.

 

“You said that if I came here to be a monk or if I had a question for them I could enter?

 

“Yes, it is so.”

 

Hellboy seem to think for a moment closing his eyes to concentrate better.

 

He came up with noting.

 

“I can’t come up with anything to ask.” Then maybe he could get some reference. “And you. Why did came here? What was your answer to that pop test, no.1, no.2 or no.3?”

 

The monk smiled at the inquiry. He could predict what was going to be the next question after he answered that on. “It was the second. I did not came here originally to become a monk, I came here to ask a question?”

 

Hellboy rolled his pricy cancer stick in the corner of his mouth to ask again. “If it is not to impolite to ask, what was your question?”

 

Every time, it did not fail, people wanted to know what was his question that made him brave this icy danger of a mountain. “With pleasure. It was: How can I make a completely satisfying and existential filling hot-dog”

 

Hellboy mouth was hanging so wide open in disbelief that he almost dropped his Cuban cigar. Samson never got enough of that. He knows he should be distancing himself from the distracting pleasures of this existence but he could not. The expression on the visitor’s face was so funny, that he was ready to reincarnate himself just so he can see it again.

 

“You mean that you, a guy from Brooklyn, came all the way to Tibet in the highest monastery with the most freaking difficult accessibility to ask how to make a crappy wiener?”

 

‘He must be pulling my leg’, he thought. ‘Nobody would do that.’ And yet Hellboy could not discern any lie in the eyes of that guy who was smiling with all his perfect pearly white teeth. Look like that temple offered some serious dental plan.

 

"Not just any ‘dogs’. The Hot-dogs. A completely satisfying and existential filling hot-dog. Let me explain. Back in the U.S.A., I was a hot-dogs sellers. I would push my cart all over the district to sell my goods.” Samson stare was distant as he was looking down memory lane. “I was happy, I had a girlfriend, I was doing the job I always wanted, and I was gathering the money to open a snack-bar of my own, where I could sell the best hot-dogs of the States. What more could a man ask for? I had a job I liked, a love to go back each night and I could eat hot-dogs every day.” By now our sausage maniac was long lost in his culinary dream, like he was telling the story for himself rather than for Hellboy.

 

“You see, I always liked hot-dogs.” Like anyone could have doubt on that. “I remember, the first time my Da buy me one from the cart at the corner of the street. We did not had a lot of money, but I remember that it was a beautiful day and Da decided to spurge a bit and buy half a hot-dog each with my big Bro. It was delicious and at this moment I could not help but fell that everything was all right in the world at every bite. And then after every time I ate a hot-dog I got that same feeling. I had found my calling.” He told, passion shining through his eyes.

 

“But then, thing got sour like the lemonade I sold at my hot-dog cart for 50¢. My girlfriend left me, saying I was neglecting her for my job and if she saw another hot-dog in her life she would personally choke me with it. Next business became kind of slow and it was becoming more difficult to make end meet. And the worst…” He paused, making a fist and was struggling to push the word out, the truth to hard to say. “I was getting… fed up with hot-dog! Can you believe it?! After nearly eight years of eating hot-dog almost every day I without any problem, the only idea of eating one was summoning revulsion in me. I no longer had this fulfilling sensation it was bringing me in the past. I was distraught, and I was losing myself, I… almost switched for hamburgers.” He admits with great shame.

 

‘Anyone else would have get sick of it in a week’ remarked Hellboy for himself. He continued to listen to this almost morbid tale.

 

“But then, one night there was this show I saw on a television in a electronic store. It was raining and I took refuge under the porch to stay dry. I was at my lowest and depression was lurking around the corner …”

 

“Getting wet.” Quipped Hellboy.

 

The monk did not even acknowledge the comment. “I was listening to this man on the television, about this travel he did in a small country in Asia where he met these religious men who changed his life. The way he was talking about it and the self-discovery he made, was so much like me when hot-dogs were my life that I knew that these wise men with over two millennia of wisdom could help me get back my life and my love for hot-dog’s in the right tracks. It was destiny.” Our perturbed hot-dogs lover zoom back to this time line, to make sure he was still at the monastery rather than at the corner of a dirty New-York street.

 

Samson continues. “I sold everything and I proceeded to buy myself a boat ticket. I had the worst month of my life on this floating tin can before I made my way up the very path you took.”

 

“Wow.” Was all Hellboy could say. He did not know if it was inspiring tale or an incredibly stupid story. “And? What was the answer they gave you?”

 

“What answer? Oh! You mean the answer for my question. To learn Buddhism.”

 

“To learn Buddhism?” say dryly Hellboy. He got the feeling it was the all purpose answer around here to every questions.

 

“Yes. What do you think I did here for the last two decades? Grow carrots? Well actually I did grow carrots too. We take turn to manage the garden.”

 

“And did you get your answer after, that!?”

 

Samson the African American Buddhist monk in Tibet looked perplex a this question. Like it did not occur to him to search for it. “I did not need to learn the answer. I learned new ways to make my life fulfilling and my spiritual quest makes me realize that the material world is only an illusion and so was my desire.” It sounded like a broken record, like the speech as been used million of time to convince other and himself.

 

Hellboy kept himself to make the remark that in the end the poor monk did not get what he was searching for. Like him if it continues like that. He did not even see the damn urn yet and the crazy story did not help any to find a solution to get this damn urn.

 

“If I may, can I ask you a question in my turn, if it’s not to impolite either?”

 

“Euh, sure shoot.”

 

“I am sorry but I cannot figure out why the FedEx bag.”

 

“Fede…? Oh! I forgot about it. You see, it was a fluke while I was climbing this mountain I fell on this skeleton half buried in the snow.” Hellboy did not precise that it probably was the spirit of the dead man who made him fall almost to his death in the gorge so he could find the remains. This kind of things happens to him all the time, to his displeasure. “He had this bag tangled in his bone. Since it’s a FedEx bag he was a delivery man and the only place you can get on this mountain is here, so I kind of decided to deliver it for him, as he could hardly finish his run. They really do deliver everywhere.”

 

The monk was intrigued. They had the random alpinist, some new young monk in quest of ancient knowledge, a few historian, those annoying peddlers, those (*&?*?% of tourists that climbed this mountain up to the peak at the temple where they got ask the question with triple choices, but never a FedEx deliveryman. Oh! And one Jehovah Witness once. He came at an impossible hour, getting everyone out of their meditation. They had a hard time convincing him to go away. Stubbornness is a quality that every climber that made it there possess. You have to, if you want to get there.

 

Hellboy handed over the bag and helped open it with hit great strength since the zipper was frozen there. Inside, there was a single letter. Paper now yellow and a little water logged, you could still make out the writing on it even after the few year it was in the sturdy bag. It did a wonderful job of preserving it. On the envelope the returning address was in London UK of all the coincidence. The now aging ex-hot-dogs-seller carefully opened the letter and read it. His eyebrow shut up in an expression surprise and now he scrunched them in perplexity. He re-read it a second time and asked Hellboy to wait there.

 

The monk made it to the temple and about thirty minute later another monk came, this one more of a local ethnicity that the first, to ask him to come inside. There he was offered a meal and a room so drafty that it did not made any difference with the outside to stay the night. On his way to the room he saw about two dozen monk, including Samson in a heated discussion on what seemed to be written on the letter.

 

Hellboy ask to his guide what it was all about and was answer that the letter was from a young boy who asked the people of this temple a perplexing question and consider it important enough. What was the question, Hellboy never ask. He was not one to pry in the private life of peoples if it wasn’t necessary for his job has a paranormal investigator.

 

He was asked to stay one night, because it would be dangerous to attempt a descend now that the night was falling and beside, it seem that the monks want to ask him something in the morning. Hellboy, tired from the days of climbing this cold bump, fell asleep like a log. He needed to rest while he could before he had to get down the mountain tomorrow and to be in time in London to stop the catastrophe. And he was curious about the letter.  

 

* * * * *

 

During the night several monks discussed a meaningful and innocent question that someone gave his life to deliver.

 

* * * * *

 

Hellboy woke up next morning on the hard ground covered in straw with a monumental back pain. And the cold probably gave him hemorrhoids too.

 

He got up and was served a meager breakfast so poor in taste that you had to be a saint to survive on it. He wished he had pancakes.

 

And after that he was led toward the central chamber.

 

There, Samson was waiting with the FedEx bag that looked way fatter than before. The monk said that inside there was two things. A scrolls in which his written the answer to the letter and the so desire urn. He said that they would land him the urn upon the condition he would deliver the scroll to the author of the letter and that after he completed the use of the urn, he would have to bring it back and do the ritual trial in a post-proving of his worthiness. They insisted on the last point.

 

They said the reason they let him use the urn was that if he did not save London he could not deliver the answer, simple as that.

 

Hellboy counter-argumented by saying that the sender may not be in London anymore, but Samson just smiled an enigmatic smirk and said that they ‘checked’. How were they able to do that he never knew either. And they sure didn’t have wireless internet here either.

 

He also commented that it was a little to convenient that he found that bag just when it was the thing that would make him advance into his quest. It was to suspicious to his taste and got the feeling that someone or something was playing him for a fool. At that Samson told him that it was probably the Buddha Source that made him go on the right path so they got the letter. It was not just him but everything around him that rolled on each other in the gear of the grand cosmic wheel.

 

Hellboy made an oath that he would deliver the scroll without fault and come back after he finished his business with the urn. He gave his thanks to Samson, Hellboy was sure that without him he would never have gotten the urn in time. Samson said that he did not need thanks but Hellboy insisted that he would do something for him when he will come back.

 

After that, Hellboy got down the mountain swearing up another storm, beating his own record for it.

 

* * * * *

 

Hellboy dealt with the threat in London in a surprisingly easy manner and less painful way than he usually expect with problems of this scales. And so, it was a less bruised Hellboy that delivered the scroll to a college student who did not know to be surprised at the fact that received an answer to the letter he had written to Tibetan monk when he was in elementary school or the fact that it’s a giant red demon with an old bag of FedEx who delivered it.

 

Hellboy did not even wait for him to open the scroll before leaving.

 

* * * * *

 

About a week later, Hellboy was presently back at the temple crouching on the extended left palm of a giant golden statue of Buddha, with a rag and a brush in his hands, a bucket of dirty water, wasting gallon of elbow grease on making the statue shine.

 

And at the foot of the statue, sitting in the lotus position is Samson the monk, beside him a cooler, a little grill, a packet of sausages and one breads and pot of mustard. In each hands he hold a hot-dog and is presently stuffing his cheeks to the limit like a chipmunk, munching.

 

And on his face, two stream of tears of happiness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bookeater:  
> Hello dear fan, this little one shot is to say sorry about the long wait for chapter 3 of our other fanfic ‘A place to belong’ and also something to make you wait for chapter four. Expect some one-shot like this from time to time but without any kind of schedule. I’m working on the bug I got with what I currently got for chapter four, but even if there are enough material already for a chapter, I can’t let the story as it is without finishing a lot of element. So expect chapter four to be the longest so far. I also got a lot material to read on Hellboy to continue being at the peak of quality. 
> 
> This little one shot was inspired to me after I read the Short stories collection of Hellboy: Odder jobs. It’s easy to read there are some great stories thought by some incredible author that I could only scrape at the talent they possess to put a story on paper, who wanted to (do)pay homage to the work of Mike Mignola’s. 
> 
> See ya next time. 
> 
>  
> 
> Shiroyuki : What don't look at me, I had absolutely nothing to with this *^_^*
> 
> No... wait, that’s not true, I was the beta reader *^_^*


End file.
